


Home (Where Is It?)

by AndAri



Series: John Egbert Stories [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (its kind of like one), Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Amnesia, Hospitals, I Don't Even Know, Laboratories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV John Egbert, POV Second Person, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short Chapters, Skaia, Skaianet Laboratories, Unreliable Narrator, he legit doesnt know whats happening so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAri/pseuds/AndAri
Summary: Where are you? You don’t seem to recall. You also don’t recall why you don’t know. Did you sleep here? You only seemed to gain consciousness as you questioned the sky. You survey the room you are in, and it seems too bland for anyone your age.How old are you, anyways?====================John seems to have found himself in a sticky situation- but he can't even remember his own name.Chapters will be short and probably inconsistent in timing but if you stick with me I promise one hell of a ride.





	Home (Where Is It?)

You look out the thickly-glassed window. You swear you cannot see the clouds, but you cannot see the blue sky either, so you _must_ be looking at them.

You quickly change your mind. Then you begin to question why you would have such a thought in the first place. Then you question why you would change your mind.

Why are you suddenly questioning everything? You were only looking out a window.

Why not question everything else why you’re at it? You don’t see why not.

Where are you? You don’t seem to recall. You also don’t recall why you don’t know. Did you sleep here? You only seemed to gain consciousness as you questioned the sky. You survey the room you are in, and it seems too bland for anyone your age.

How old are you, anyways? Judging from the features you can see without the help of a mirror, you might be sixteen or maybe seventeen. Somehow you know you’ve always looked younger than you are. You can see your feet, uncovered and supporting you, and pants that appear too short yet possibly a size too large. They are plain white, starchy, and inflexible. You think that if they weren’t this size, you wouldn’t even be able to sit with your legs crossed comfortably.

You go back to surveying the room. 

Why is there no mirror? You don’t know why there _would_ be one, but why wouldn’t there be? You stop questioning the negative space and start observing the positive space around you.

You were sitting in a chair–now standing beside it– your elbow formerly on the windowsill, your palm formerly half under your chin and half on your cheek, to support your head. You rub your face, as you somehow know your unusually pale complexion will redden almost instantly from the pressure you had applied just moments ago. You, of course, do not know that your skin is unusually pale. You simply recognize it as such automatically, and choose to cease inquiring every thought you conceive.

The chair seems to stand out, along with your bed. The room is cold in appearance, and once you soon become aware of your other senses you are almost one-hundred percent certain it will be as cold as it looks. The chair you sat in is made of wood painted white, with a curving design creating a back for support. 

The chair does not have a cushion but when you were seated just a moment ago it was not uncomfortable, so it must have been made with at least _some_ care.

The bed beside it– that you presume to be your own– also exists in stark contrast to the rest of the plain, white and gray, cold room. The bed, while having a thin mattress and only one pillow, has fluffy sheets that with no doubt you are certain are warm, and comfortable as well– more than enough to keep you shielded from the cold of the room.

There is also a plain, undecorated door in the corner opposite the bed, chair, and small window. You only notice it out of the corner of your eye, and immediately dismiss it. This is not an important detail, somehow you know it is insignificant and means nothing to you. It is sans handle and therefore sans use. You choose to bring your mind back to your unbroken focus towards the bed.

The bed’s sheets are white with pastel blue trim. Once you may have found this a comforting sight, the only creative piece in your current known world– but somehow now you know better. This is to make you feel at home. This is not home. This has never been home. _This will never be your home._

**Author's Note:**

> Again a piece i initially wrote for school as a sneaky homestuck fanfic. I hope youre enjoying the story so far, im working on the exact plot. Should I include other POVs? Let me know below!
> 
> Let me know if you think of something– suggestions are welcome.  
> kudos will help me want to keep writing! <3


End file.
